Fool For Love
by failsafe
Summary: Harry reminisces about love lost. Includes Hermione, Ron and Draco. Short and bittersweet.


Summary: What do you get when you combine Harry Potter, a bottle of vodka, and a four-letter word? Answer: this.

Author's Note: I'm sorry if Harry is totally out of character in this one, but he _is_ drunk and not very aware of what he's saying. I also apologize for the profanity. If you don't like bad words you can either press the back button on your browser—or just skip over 'em in the story. Your choice. And lastly, please, please, please REVIEW! I will love you eternally if you do. Thank you and cheers!

This is dedicated to my best friend Elo, who is a diehard Draco/Hermione 'shipper (like me).

**Fool For Love**

Love sucks. Forget what the songs say—love isn't a many splendored thing, it doesn't lift us up where we belong, it isn't all that matters, it isn't all you need, and it sure wasn't bloody made for me and you.

Just ask anybody who's ever been dumped, jilted, stood up, turned down, cheated on, or abused.

But what then, is love?

Love—well, love is…it's a bitch, that's what it is. It's just one of those things in life that we'll never figure out, like crop circles, and Michael Jackson. You could go look it up in a dictionary or in the Bible, but it's not going to do much more than confuse the hell out of you, because on one hand you've got this long-ass scientific explanation that reads like a line from Star Wars (C-3PO in particular), and on the other you've got prose bordering on poetry that frankly doesn't tell us much except that love is gentle, kind and vaguely communist.

Besides, love is different for everyone. It's _subjective_, meaning there's no standard, universal definition for it. That's why you've got me ranting over here, while the rest of the world goes on writing their stupid, chart-topping, cheesier-than-gorgonzola love songs.

I sound bitter, don't I?

Maybe it's because I am.

I mean, if things hadn't happened the way they did, then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be sitting here, right now, half-blind and half-asleep, with a bottle of Stolichnaya in my hand, rambling incoherently about a subject I'm not even qualified to discuss. If Lady Luck had been on my side…if the winds of change had gotten asthma…if the fates finally got a life and stopped meddling with mine…those are all big ifs. But none of those are as big as the if I'm about to mention, which is _if she hadn't left me._

Ouch.

It still hurts like crazy to say it, hurts even more to speculate. But I can't help it. I guess deep down inside I'm a masochist and enjoy inflicting pain on myself. At least, that's the only plausible explanation I can come up with for all the crap I've put myself through lately.

It's all her fault, you know. If she had just said yes…ouch! There I go again. But you know that old saying, "familiarity breeds contempt"—you get too close to something that you begin to lose all respect for it? That's how I feel now. I've gone through so much pain already that I'm no longer afraid of a little more. In a way, I even look forward to it. It shows that I'm still capable of _feeling_.

Feeling—that's how it all started, with a feeling.

That I had.

For someone.

For _her._

I didn't mean to fall in love—and really, who does? It's not exactly something you pencil into your calendar. It just happens, out of the blue, and when it does there is nothing you can do to put a stop to it. You have to welcome it with open arms, embrace it, and eventually you'll realize that you never want to let it go. Even though sometimes you have to.

It all began in fifth year, not exactly the best possible time, considering all the hype surrounding a certain middle-aged, schizophrenic bloke with anemia. Yeah, Voldemort was making his big, splashy comeback, and the whole wizarding world was in a tizzy.

Now under these circumstances, you'd think I'd be just a _little _bit preoccupied, given that I was the cause of his downfall all those years ago and I'd managed to thwart all his crackpot schemes for world domination since then, two very good reasons for him to be royally pissed at me. But nooo, Cupid decided that, hey, it's been a long time since I've been out on the field, better get some practice, that Harry Potter dude looks like fair game, I think I'll hit him with one of my golden arrow thingies, Daddy's gonna be _so_ proud of me!

And so he did.

And I fell like a ton of bricks.

Everything changed after that. Cho Chang, my lust object since third year, was relegated to the back of my mind, the part of my brain usually reserved for Professor Binns' soporific History of Magic lectures and Professor Trelawney's increasingly creative predictions of doom, while Hermione was moved to the front cabin of my train of thought.

To Mr Adult Diapers' credit, he couldn't have picked a better candidate. Well, maybe he could, but can you honestly see Heidi Klum and me together? Didn't think so. Besides, Hermione was everything I looked for in a girl. Still is, actually. Makes me wonder why I didn't see it before. Maybe I did, only I was too busy salivating over Cho to pay much attention. Go figure.

Suddenly I began to notice things about Hermione—little things, like how the color of her hair changed from chocolate brown to a shimmering auburn with hints of gold when the light was just right, or the way her cute little nose turned up ever so slightly at the tip, or the way her eyes would light up whenever a teacher asked a question she knew the answer to. I swear, I nearly drove Ron insane with my love-struck babbling. The poor bloke didn't know whether to congratulate me for coming to my senses at long last, or slap me. Hard.

Of course, I couldn't expect to my smitten state to go on unnoticed. She's sharp and observant, and I've never been that good at hiding things—a lethal combination, if you ask me.

That's why I decided to come clean with her.

After several agonizing weeks spent deliberating and trying to avoid her as possible without arousing suspicion, I finally mustered up the courage to actually ask if I could talk to her that night. Alone.

"Sure," she said, plainly confused.

Right before our meeting, Ron gave me a pep talk. He said it was to boost my confidence, but I think it was just to get me off his back, since I was having a hard time letting go of his arm.

"Just remember, if she says no, it's not the end of the world. There's plenty of other fish in the sea—although, I admit, her kind is pretty rare."

"She's not 'rare', you make her sound like a steak," I said irritably. "Besides, what makes you think she'll say no?" I paled. "Oh God, you think she'll say no!"

Ron rolled his eyes impatiently. "Look, it doesn't matter, okay? Just go!"

He gave me a quick pat on the back and promptly disappeared.

I found her standing by the Great Hall, just like we had agreed. The three strides it took for me to get to her felt more like three leagues.

I got right to the point. "I've got something very important to tell you."

"Is anything wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"No. Well, not really."

"Thank God." She sighed with relief. "What is it, then?"

This was it. The big moment. The one I'd been psyching myself up for all day. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

_Here goes nothing…_

"Hermione, I'm—I think I'm falling in love with you."

There. I'd said it.

There was a long silence as the weight of my words settled on both of us.

Then her face fell.

"Oh." Her voice was strangely soft. "Harry…"

Uh-oh.

"I-I know it's really sudden, b-but I didn't realize it until a couple of weeks ago," I said quickly. "And I know I know how you feel, it's bloody weird, we've been friends for so long and all, and there've been others before us…but if you think about it, it was only a matter of time before we took the next step…it's not that far from where we are now…"

"It's not that," she replied, shaking her head. Her eyes were filled with tears. "Harry…I just…I can't…I'm not…"

"No, don't say that," I said desperately. "You're just scared. But you shouldn't be, because I'll never leave you. You can always count on me, no matter what. And I'll never, ever do anything to hurt you, Hermione. I'll never lie to you, or cheat on you. I'll take care of you when you're sick, and give you a shoulder to cry on when you need to let it all out. Everything I have will be yours. And above all, I will love you, with all my heart, with all my soul, with every fiber of my being."

I stopped then and looked at her squarely in the eye.

She met my gaze head on. "I believe you," she said slowly, "but I know what you want me to say, and I'm sorry, but I can't do it."

"And why not?" I demanded. "Don't you love me?" 

"Of course I do," she replied, her voice trembling slightly at my harsh tone. "I always have, Harry, and I always will. But not in the way you want me to. I don't think I could do it."

"You could always try."

"No, I can't." A tear rolled down her cheek.

At that moment, I would have given anything, anything in the world, to be anywhere else but there.

"Why?" I forced myself to ask. I just had to know.

She didn't answer. My temper flared.

"Look, you've already broken my heart into a million damn pieces, the least you could do is tell me why, so I won't have to spent the rest of my miserable life making wild guesses, and drive myself completely insane in the process!"

She remained silent. I turned away in frustration, clenching my fists so tightly that my knuckles were turning white. 

"It's Draco."

I whirled around in shock. "Draco? As in, Draco 'Death to the Mudbloods' Malfoy? What the hell has he got to do with all of this?"

"What do you think?" she asked quietly.

"I think…" My voice trailed off, as realization hit me like a ten wheeler truck. I gasped. "No. It can't be. Not you—not _him._ It can't be him!"

She smiled sadly. "I'm afraid it is."

I closed my eyes. I wondered whose nightmare this was, hers or mine, because this was just too impossible, too twisted, to be reality.

"Harry…"

I opened my eyes. She was still standing there, mere inches away from me, so near and at the same time so damn far. And getting farther with every moment.

"Do you love him?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Yes, I do," she whispered. "Very much."

And that was it. She had made her choice. My fate was sealed in those five words.

"All right then," I managed to say. "I guess I'd better be on my way." I started to walk away.

"Harry." She touched my arm. It sparked the familiar tingling sensation in me, but this time it seemed hollow, subdued. "I'm sorry."

I pushed her hand away. "Don't be." I looked at her then, and felt my heart ache. I caressed her cheek tenderly. Her skin was as white as porcelain and felt like velvet under my hands. I leaned forward.

She drew back in alarm. "No."

"Please," I begged. "Just this once. Never again, I promise."

Finally, she relented, and let me to take her into my arms.

And as I kissed her, tenderly but with more intensity than anything else I had ever done in my life, I allowed myself to pretend, if only for a few fleeting moments, that we were together, that things would stay the same forever, that all was right in the world.

I pulled away from her reluctantly.

She touched her lips gingerly. "That was…not half as bad as I thought it would be."

I grinned crookedly. "You want another one?" I asked, only half-joking.

She smiled weakly. "Not really."

"I figured as much."

We lapsed into a meaningful silence.

Without warning, we heard someone shout, followed by a loud, metallic crash. I'd bet my broomstick it was Neville; when it came to anything that wasn't Herbology, the kid had two sore left thumbs. He'd probably knocked into one of the house elves again. Or spilled his drink. In any case, it brought us out of our respective reveries.

"I think we'd better get inside," she said, businesslike all of a sudden. "They'll be looking for us."

I nodded numbly.

"And, well, Harry—I think it's best if we don't go in together, because of our, you know, situation," she finished awkwardly.

I didn't have the energy to argue. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever you say."

"I'll go first. You can follow a little after." She took a minute to compose herself: smoothed out her skirt, adjusted her cloak, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Then she made to open the door.

"Wait."

She halted. Her hand was on one of the large brass doorknobs.

I took her hand in mine and asked her one last question. "Does—does he love you?" The words tasted like acid, but I forced them out. 

Her answer was quick, and though not unexpected, cut deep into my already bleeding heart. "Yes."

"Good," I replied. "That's all I need to hear."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye, Hermione."

Then she was gone.

I don't know how I made it through the night. Thank God for Ron. When I entered the Great Hall shortly after Hermione, he was waiting by the front door with a plate full of my favorite foods. Later on, he physically restrained me to keep me from lunging at Draco and making pizza topping out of him. Back in the dorm, he listened attentively as I told him what had happened. He never once interrupted, even as the tears came and I started sounding like a skipping CD. And when I eventually shut up, he invited me to a friendly game of chess.

And for once, he let me win.

That was two years ago.

Not much has changed since then.

Hermione and Draco are still together. I've long since given up on the idea of tearing them apart. Those two are stuck together like flies to shit. Besides, I'm no match for Mr Lover. Draco is rich, titled and charming. As if that weren't enough, he's also a straight-A student and one hell of a Quidditch player. You'd think that in exchange for all this, he'd have to be ugly as sin, just to be fair, but apparently, there is no justice in the universe, because Draco looks like an angel, though he sure doesn't act the part. This automatically overrides his less desirable qualities, because Draco may be one arrogant, supercilious bastard, but you gotta admit, he's a damn pretty one.

What have I got to offer? Flawless Parseltongue, the top spot on Voldemort's shit list and a scar the size of Milwaukee in the middle of my forehead. Oh yeah, I can definitely see Hermione ditching Blondie over there for me.

The worst part is, he really seems to love her. When he looks at her, you can plainly see the googly-eyed adoration on his face. It's sickening, but sincere, and as long as he stays that way I won't castrate him. I owe Hermione that much. Besides, he isn't as bad as he used to be. He still walks around with his nose pointing north like a bloody compass and has an incurable superiority complex, but he's…changed. Like when he and I trade our usual insults, I can hear it in his voice. The drawl is still there, but the malice is gone. And he doesn't bully Neville and the lower years anymore—just smirks at them in a really intimidating way. He doesn't want to fight anymore, and weirdly enough, neither do I. If I didn't know any better I'd say we're actually becoming friends.

If Ron knew, I wouldn't hear the end of it from him. But I don't think he's noticed the change. Come to think of it, there are a lot of things he hasn't noticed lately. A few weeks ago Dean put pepper in his cereal at breakfast, and the prat didn't even taste the difference. You'd think Dean had poured _honey_ in the bowl, from the goofy grin plastered on his face. I soon found out the reason for his odd behavior, when I walked into the common room and found him playing some intense tonsil hockey with Lavender Brown. I personally don't like her much, but if Ron's happy then I'll grin and bear it. I'm good at that kind of stuff.

Besides, she gave me some chocolate chip cookies the other day, and they were heavenly. If she's a whiz in the kitchen then I guess she can't be _that_ bad.

I miss him, though.

My two best friends in the whole world are now taken.

And I'm still alone.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Hoping.

Love is definitely a bitch. It broke my heart and took away the two people I thought would always be there for me. One of them was the woman I loved.

I know that I'm not the only one who's been drawn to the flame, only to get burned. And you know what they say: once bitten, twice shy.

But you know what?

I'd do it again.

I'd go through all the pain, all the suffering, all the sorrow.

I'd go through it all over again, because there's the slightest chance that maybe, just maybe, this time, I'll get it right this time.

It sounds cheesy, but let's face it. The only reason why we get up every morning, why we bother to pick ourselves up every time we fall, why we continue to hang on, even by the shortest thread, and not just give up and give in, is because we believe that someday, our efforts are going to pay off, that it's all going to be worth it, and we'll meet that special someone who'll make us forget about the darkness and drudgery of the past and ride out with us into the sunset, into happily ever after.

Wow. I can't believe I just said that.

Must be the vodka.

Which reminds me, I've got to hide it. Ron is due to come back from his stroll with Lavender anytime now. He's going to amble in, a little dazed, with messed up hair and a seriously wrinkled shirt. His face will likely be covered with kiss marks, and he might even have a hickey, if he was lucky. He'll sit down, wipe his sweaty brow, ask if I can keep a secret, then proceed to tell me all the gory details. I'll be all ears, of course. And afterwards, when he goes to the bathroom to wash his face and take a cold shower, I'll step out into the common room, round up the boys, and tell 'em all about it. We'll have a good laugh about it, like we always do, and when Ron comes out we'll pull his leg till its bells ring.

Because love is a bitch, but it can be damn funny when it wants to be. 

End

Author's Note: WELL? Did you like it? Hate it? Either way, please tell me, either by leaving a review, or dropping me a line at politik@atenista.net. Thanks and peace to y'all!


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